


Little Mudhorn

by MixedWords



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Adorable Baby Yoda (The Mandalorian TV), Clan of two, Did his heart just skip a beat?, Din Djarin proud papa, Din is best dad, Gen, Happy moments - Freeform, Protective Din Djarin, Yoda wants to be like Din, You're a mudhorn harry, daddy din djarin, i'm not crying
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:20:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27591943
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MixedWords/pseuds/MixedWords
Summary: Din wishes this little terror would sleep but is happy that they didn't this time.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 148





	Little Mudhorn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sweatandwoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sweatandwoe/gifts).



> A quick thirty-minute writing exercise after I got whomped with this cute idea to make my girlfriend swoon. She swooned.
> 
> Anyway, it's a quick thing for me. As of such, it's small but I hope it makes you go 'awwww'.

The soft humming of the Razor Crest is a constant background sound. For Din Djarin, it’s a sign that everything is right, and everything is okay. Without it, he doubted he’d be able to sleep. Din, was frankly wired to that sound. 

In his cot, he rested. Eyes still closed after awakening from the quick nap. As he laid there, in the cramped space, he thought about the little Kowakian-Monkey of a kid wrapped in the blanket - that Din stitched himself. In that small hammock, they were supposed to be resting; dreaming about slimy tiny creatures that they could nibble upon. Honestly, the child was disgusting with their eating habits; Din would be the first to admit that.

A clanking sound from further down in the ship brought the Mandalorian our of his respite. With his eyes open, it was obvious that the child wasn’t in their hammock where they should be. “Damn it,” the curse slips from Din’s lips. Somehow the toddler is capable of outsmarting him. So swift on its small feet, it was almost impressive if it didn’t cause anxiety to bubble up. 

“Okay, times up. It’s nap time,” Din called out. The armoured male scanned the cockpit before deciding the scamp wasn’t here. The sliding doors were open; they weren’t when he went to nap. “Great.” Having the child know how to open the doors wasn’t something he was keen about, what parent would? A child that was quick on their feet and had the know-how to open shuttle doors was, frankly, a menace. 

_ Crash… _

The sound of objects falling did not give him pause. Already he was moving, and quite fast at that. In the Razor Crest, there were too many things that could hurt the child. Too many weapons! Din knew sooner rather than later, he was going to have child-proof the entire thing. Maybe get an extra locking mechanism for the doors; it was better than the alternative. 

“Where are you, you little…” His modulated voice trailed off as he saw the many cargo crates that had fallen. Amidst the mess of metal and wooden boxes was the child; their head now stuck in an empty can. Din couldn’t help but laugh, as the soft whimpers came from the now animated can. “It’s okay, I’ve got you now,” Din chuckles, as he moves some of the crates and kneels before them. As if responding by sound, the little one waddles over, hands out wide as if eager to be held and safe from the mess they have caused.

“So now you want to nap, hm?” The Mandalorian reaches out; his hands are so large compared to the tin on the child’s head, yet, when he touches upon it, the kid whimpers louder. “What? Is it hurting?” Din moves his hand away just a little, but the child grabs upon it with both of theirs. The size difference is immense, a testament to their differences and place in each other lives. 

For a moment, Din stops and looks upon his foundling. It’s strange, even though it’s just a can - something that frankly could be bothering the little one, there’s a similarity there that can’t be missed. “Your first helmet, huh?” His words earn a giggle; a soft laughter of joy. Something deep within this battle hardens man softens, his heart if for a moment seems to skip a beat. 

“You…you wanted a helmet? Like mine?” Another rupture of muffled laughter, the child seems to incline its head in an almost comical fashion, yet he can’t bring himself to laugh. Instead, he picks up this little bundle of giggles and nightmare to frogs. 

“My little Mudhorn…”


End file.
